


Drinking Games

by robinwritesallthefanfiction



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drinking Games, F/F, F/M, Foreplay, Gambling, Gen, Language, Multi, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Reader-Insert, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-12 06:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10484256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthefanfiction/pseuds/robinwritesallthefanfiction
Summary: You’re a member of The Saviors who likes to play drinking games with her comrades.





	1. Negan and Scotch

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of this story was originally a chapter in my [_Short and Sweet_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8513692/chapters/19513495) series. It has retained its spot there, but I’m reposting it here with minor edits as the start of a new series.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find a bottle of scotch to share with Negan.

Negan walks toward you, Lucille propped up on his shoulder, a cocky grin plastered all over his face. When he reaches the doorway that you’re standing in, he presses his palm on the frame for leverage and leans over you. You glance up, flashing him a very satisfied smirk.

“You look like the cat who ate the canary, darlin’,” he drawls. “Successful run, I take it?”

“Very,” you reply. “We found a couple mansions with some choice shit in them not too far away. And I brought you a present.” You tug the lapel of your jacket to the side, showing him what you’re holding against your chest under the leather.

Negan’s mouth drops open in shock and you chuckle. “Do you like it?” you ask teasingly. He tilts his head and chuckles back.

“Sweetheart, that is a $25,000 bottle of scotch. There are only thirty of these in the world.” He runs his finger over the bottle, biting his lower lip in anticipation.

“I remembered you telling me about it,” you admit. “Nobody saw it but me. And you deserve a treat for being our fearless leader, don’t you think?”

“I do think!” he retorts teasingly. “Get that shit up to my office, honey. You and me are gonna spend the afternoon together.”

****

You frown at your cards, your feet propped up on Negan’s desk. You’re losing, which is why your shoes, socks, jacket, and jeans are currently crumpled into a pile next to your chair. He’s only lost his boots, socks, and jacket so far.

There are two glasses of scotch on the desk between you, but you’re both drinking slowly. Normally you’re not a fan of scotch, but Negan insisted that you try some since you found the bottle. You can see why it’s so expensive. It’s warm and smooth, and tastes like coffee, marmalade, and citrus. You actually like it.

Negan leans forward, his brow furrowing as he looks at you. “Do you have any… fours?” he queries, stroking his beard slowly. You giggle and smile.

“Go fish.”

“Fuck,” he growls, taking a sip of his scotch and then stripping off his shirt. You let yourself ogle his lean, muscular torso for a minute, your eyes following the line of dark hair that leads down into his pants.

“It’s a game of luck, you know,” you point out nonchalantly. “You can’t distract me into making a mistake.”

“Watch me, doll,” he winks.

You shake your head at him. “Give me your sevens, boss,” you wink back, and he groans.

“Dammit!” He takes a bigger drink this time and stands up, gazing down at his belts. “Do these each count as one?”

You snicker. “They’re holding up your pants, so they count with those.”

He grumbles, taking off both belts and then shedding his pants. Now he’s just wearing his gray boxer briefs, and you raise your eyebrows when you see that he’s already half-hard. You bite your lip; he notices, snickering under his breath.

“Fives,” he demands, slapping his palm roughly against his desk as he sits back down.

“Shit,” you answer, throwing down the card and shedding your shirt before taking another drink. The scotch pools in your belly, but the heat there isn’t just from the alcohol anymore.

Negan’s hazel eyes are dark as he gazes at you hungrily. “If I win this hand,” he challenges, “you get on my dick.”

“All right,” you agree, shifting slowly in your chair.

He thinks for a long moment, staring at his cards thoughtfully. “Kings,” he finally decides.

You hesitate, making him wait. Then you reach forward, swallowing what remains of your scotch and tossing your last card onto the desk. It’s the king of hearts.

“Well, hot damn!” Negan crows, slapping his thigh. “Get your sexy ass over here, princess.” You happily oblige, straddling his lap and putting your arms around his neck as he pops the clasp on your bra open. “Thank you for my present,” he purrs, his voice deep and husky. “Now let me give you one. Or two. Or three.”

“Anything you want, boss.” You give him a little salute. He laughs.

Then his face is in your breasts, and your hands are in his hair, and you forget how to be coy.


	2. Simon and Gin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You use a bottle of gin to get something from Simon.

You lean in the open doorway of Simon’s room, a bottle dangling from the fingers of one hand as you playfully knock against the wall. He looks up at you, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look stern. “Long time no see. Negan not available tonight?”

You know he’s teasing, so you put on a show and stick your lower lip out in a pout. “Come on, Simon,” you whine. “You know you’re my favorite Savior.”

He slouches on the bed, looking away and putting on his own show of pouting. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” He peeks back at you and his eyes are sparkling with mischief. “I hope that’s a peace offering.”

You step into his room and shut the door behind you, hefting the bottle and setting it on his small table before you jump up and sit next to it. “It might be. You still a gin man?”

Simon raises an eyebrow and then makes an exaggeratedly disgusted face. “Gin? Damn shit tastes like chewing on a Christmas tree. When have I ever been a gin man?” Again, his eyes are playful as he adds, “Craft brews are the ticket. But hard to come by. And I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.” He stands up from the bed and walks over to you, lifting the bottle to turn the label to him. “Decent brand, anyway. Had some yet?”

“Thought I’d wait for you.” Your gaze sweeps over his shirt, which is pulled tight across his chest and over his arms. You and Simon have settled naturally into a comfortable platonic friendship, but he sure is pretty to look at. You lick your lips as he turns to get two glasses and ask, “Want to play a game?”

Simon rolls his eyes overdramatically as he turns back around. “I’ve heard about the kinds of games you play with Negan. Strip Go Fish. Embarrassing, really, don’t you think?”

You laugh and shrug. “Hey, don’t knock it. I don’t know any other card games. And besides, the point isn’t to play the game when I’m with Negan. The point is to get naked. Negan was satisfied that he won and I was satisfied in… many other ways.” Simon makes a face of mock disgust and you giggle. “All right, no more talking about Negan. Continuing my trend of playing embarrassing kiddie games, how do you feel about… Simon Says?”

He smirks slowly. “Unsurprisingly, that one’s always been a favorite of mine.” He rotates the bottle as you slip into one of his chairs. “For every missed order, you take a shot? Is that how this is gonna work?”

You poke him lightly in the stomach as he sits down. “You’re Simon,” you point out, “so I guess you make the rules. And are you saying you think I’m bad at following orders, by the way? I’m offended! I am a model Savior!” You stick your tongue out at him briefly. You love giving Simon a hard time.

“Everyone is bad at following orders in Simon Says,” he replies as he fills each glass halfway. “That’s half the fun. All right, we alternate giving orders and drink for every missed order. The first person to miss five orders is the loser. The game is over when the bottle’s empty.”

You frown, your brows knitting together as you take the glass he hands you. “Damn, I’m already confused. I don’t remember this being so complicated.” You look at the glass. “Maybe this will help.” You toss back the whole drink easily, then look around impishly. “Nope. No help at all. Oh well. Worth a shot.” You giggle. “Worth a shot. Get it?”

Simon shakes his head at you in mock exasperation, but he joins you and takes a drink. He paces back to the center of the room and stands, watching you, his arms over his chest, the hand with the glass resting on his forearm. “What are we playing for? We need a prize.”

You leer at him and he looks back at you suspiciously. “What do you want?” he wonders warily. You shrug your jacket off over the back of the chair and put your feet on the table, crossing your legs before nodding at the bottle. He wanders back over to refill your glass; his isn’t empty yet.

“Your secret stash,” you enunciate clearly, sipping casually. Simon’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

“No,” he declines firmly. “We’re not playing Simon Says for those! They’re in mint condition, and I’m sure not going to find any more of them around here!”

You shake your head, waving a finger to appease him. “I only want one,” you clarify.

He groans. “Not the…”

“The red bikini!” you crow, drinking the rest of the glass. “If I win,” you chirp, holding out your glass so he can fill it again, “I get the red bikini.”

“It’s going to be pretty easy to win if you’re wasted,” he mutters grumpily.

“Then you shouldn’t be scared,” you challenge him slyly. He breathes out heavily and his mustache fluffs; you snort, trying to hold in your laughter.

“Fine,” he growls. “We play for the red bikini.” You grin in victory and take another drink. “You go first.”

“Simon says stand up.”

You jump off the table dramatically, leaving your glass there, raising your arms like you’ve just finished a difficult gymnastics move. “Don’t go too easy on me or anything,” you smirk. “Simon says drink that down. You need to catch up.”

Simon drinks obediently. “Stand on one foot,” he orders idly, grimacing at his empty glass.

“Nuh-uh. You didn’t say Simon says,” you reply archly, sticking your tongue out again and beaming at him as though you’re the smartest person in the world. “Simon says refill us both,” you continue, quickly drinking what’s left in your glass. He obeys, taking a drink while he thinks.

“Simon says stand on one foot and touch your nose.” You follow suit, wobbling a bit at first.

“You gonna make me walk in a straight line too, Officer?” you joke. “Go get the red bikini,” you add quickly, hoping he’ll do so without thinking.

It works. Simon sighs and walks over to his bed, reaching under it and pulling out the item you want. It’s a Spanish-language Playboy magazine featuring a gorgeous model in a red bikini on the cover. When he turns to bring it back to the table, he finally realizes his mistake because you’re grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Dammit!” he snaps, emptying his glass on the way over and then refilling it.

“One for me,” you squeal gleefully. “You’re nervous.”

“Shut up.” He grinds his teeth, no longer as amused as he was before. “Do a cartwheel.”

“I’m not going to do a drunk cartwheel in this tiny as fuck room, Simon. I’ll die. Besides, you didn’t say Simon says.” Even though you know he’s too smart to bite this time, you try again. “Touch your toes.”

“Screw you,” he responds breezily; you laugh. “Simon says kneel.”

“Already?” you purr, blowing him a kiss. He wrinkles his nose at you and you snicker. “All right.” You get down on your knees and crane your neck to look up at him. “Like you need to be taller.” You lick your lips. “Take off your shirt and flex those muscles for me, babe,” you tease.

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

“Simon says take off your shirt.”

“Naughty, naughty,” you murmur, undoing the buttons of the light plaid shirt you’re wearing, revealing a red camisole underneath. “Foiled again,” you wink. This is really entirely too much fun. You hold the shirt out to him. “Put this over the back of the chair, please,” you request primly.

Simon’s natural chivalry takes over before he realizes what he’s done. “Fuck me standing!” He runs a hand over his face before taking a drink.

“You didn’t say Simon says,” you giggle, even though you know that wasn’t an order. He pats you on the head.

“Cheeky bitch,” he grunts affectionately. You grin up at him. “Take that shirt off too.”

You purposely take it off, tossing it at him and gasping in mock surprise. “Oh no! You didn’t say Simon says.” You empty your glass again, cradling it between your breasts as Simon raises his eyebrows at the sight of your red deep plunge bra.

“Where the fuck did you get that thing?” he wonders, grabbing the bottle to refill your glass and realizing that it’s already empty. “Shit, did we really drink that much?”

“Apparently,” you muse. “The bottle wasn’t that big, in our defense,” you observe, looking down between your cleavage at the glass before setting it back on the table. “Negan,” you say shortly. Simon looks momentarily confused and then realizes that you’re answering his question.

Right on cue, you hear sharp whistling echo down the hallway. “Speak of the Devil,” Simon intones; you giggle. You are actually pretty drunk now, but you’re trying not to be too obvious about it.

You glance over your shoulder as you hear the door open. Negan stops as he sees both of you, sucking on his teeth and chuckling. “Am I interrupting something?” he smirks, his eyes running appreciatively over your bare back.

“Hi, boss!” You wave cheerfully as Simon sheepishly holds up the empty gin bottle. “We’re playing Simon Says.”

“You and your games.” Negan shakes his head and comes into the room, Lucille dangling by his side. “Simon says suck Negan’s dick,” he booms, giving you a big grin. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“You’re not playing. Only Simon can tell me what to do,” you inform him haughtily. Negan looks at Simon and raises his eyebrows. Simon is just buzzed enough to oblige.

“Simon says suck Negan’s dick?” He shrugs, looking down at you quizzically. You snort and Negan sighs.

“Fuck, how much has she had?”

“Plenty,” Simon observes mellowly.

“You gonna watch?” you tease, reaching out and squeezing Negan’s thigh. “I bet I look good giving head. And Negan has a nice big dick to practice on.”

“Well, her filter’s gone,” Simon says casually; Negan laughs loudly.

“Does she ever have a filter?” He looks at Simon curiously. “You too drunk to work? I need you.”

“I’m good, boss. Let’s get her on her feet, though.” Each man takes one of your hands and pulls you up off of the floor; Negan pulls harder than Simon, causing you to smack into his chest on your way up. You put your arms around him and rub your face against his shirt.

“Mmm. You’re warm and you smell nice,” you tell him. He smiles indulgently, leaning down and giving you a quick kiss.

“Maybe I’ll come visit you when I get back. For now, drink some water and lay down, sweetheart.” You nod; Simon hands you your shirts and you tuck them under your arm.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you remind him. “I was ahead, you know. I think this counts as a win.”

Simon begrudgingly hands you the magazine; Negan eyes the model on the front and nods approvingly. “I’m gonna fucking play games with you two more fucking often.”

“I want a rematch later,” Simon stipulates. “Keep that in good condition.”

“I’m going to go read it in bed while eating donuts and I’m not even going to lick my fingers in between turning pages,” you tease. Simon actually blanches; Negan can’t stop snickering. You roll your eyes. “I’ll take good care of it,” you promise. “Come find me when you want your rematch.”

You give each of them an affectionate kiss on the cheek before walking out the door and striding down the hallway confidently, your fancy red bra on full display.

When you get back to your room, you open the door and step inside. Arat glances up at you from the bed. She’s sprawled out naked, reading. You flop down beside her, tossing the magazine onto the pillow.

“I got it,” you proclaim triumphantly, your words slightly slurred. She laughs at you indulgently.

“How much did you drink to get it?” she wonders, starting to flip through the pages. “Oh, this is nice.”

“One half to three quarters of a bottle of gin, I think. Don’t judge me.” Arat raises her eyebrows and grabs a bottle of water from the bedside table.

“Drink that, babe,” she orders.

“You didn’t say Simon says,” you mumble, opening the water and starting to chug it down.

Arat giggles. “Tell me you did not play Simon Says with Simon for this.”

“Oh, I totally did,” you confirm.

“Thanks.” Arat winks at you. “You know, you look like this model in that red bra.”

You snort. “Me. A model. Right.”

“That’s what I said. You know I don’t lie.” She plays with your bra strap teasingly. “I wonder what she looks like with it off…” Arat muses.

You finish your water and smile sultrily, flipping over onto your back. “Get over here and find out, woman.”

Arat sets the magazine on the nightstand, resting her head on your shoulder and toying with the clasp of your bra. “Yes, ma’am,” she agrees, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sigh, letting your head fall back on the pillows. “Totally worth the hangover I’m going to have tomorrow,” you mutter.

Then Arat pops your bra open and you decide to stop thinking for the rest of the evening.


End file.
